


Heatwave

by WinryWeiss



Category: Tintin (Comics), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Desk Sex, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash, What Have I Done, inappropriate usage of ice cubes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2434037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinryWeiss/pseuds/WinryWeiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marlinspike Hall in the middle of summer heatwave, late night and ice cubes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heatwave

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, absolutely no beta.

Seeing him like this, Nestor would have heart-attack, Tintin was sure of it. And probably not just the faithful butler, it was only best of luck that Professor was away on conference. Where again, in Stockholm? Well, anywhere would be better than here. The ginger reporter had been in Africa countless of times, he traveled through tropical jungle of San Theodoros, but it simply could not compare to this.  
  
Belgium in the middle of summer heatwave was unbearable.  
  
That’s why Tintin was standing naked in front of open fridge in the middle of the night.  
  
Even Captain is sleeping naked now. Due to years spent on sea and in the necessity of being immediately available to ship’s demands, he wears some sort of pants, be it pajama bottom, boxers, or casual trousers, to bed every time. Well, _every time_. If Tintin does not give him reason to do otherwise. But in this sticky, bothersome heat, the desire for sex (and hence for more stickiness, sweat and heat) was absent. On Tintin’s side. The ginger still could catch Archibald’s inappropriate stares and desire-filled looks. But he was too annoyed from the heat to respond to them. And Captain was too chivalrous to act on his own cravings.  
  
Tintin leaned on the fridge door, bringing himself closer to the desired coldness.  
  
“Cooling off?” Archibald asked, standing in kitchen doorframe, as naked as Tintin.  
  
“Hmm.” The ginger gave him short uninterested look. “This heat is killing me.”  
  
Captain walked towards fridge. “Now. It’s not so bad. It was worse at noon.”  
  
“Hmpf.”  
  
Archibald looked at him for while. Captain already learned that much needed life-lesson, which none of their enemies never apprehended. Provoking Tintin while he has such mood is really, really bad, **bad** idea. Those proverbial dogs might bite your ass off, but that would be _nothing_ compared to what his boy can do.  
  
Speaking about dogs …  
  
“Snowy is sleeping in bathtub. D’yer know that?”  
  
The ginger chuckled. “Clever boy.”  
  
Archibald’s attention was caught by single droplet of sweat trickling slowly down on Tintin’s jawline and neck. He gulped and licked his lips absentmindedly. In his head, a devilish plan suddenly formed. Captain reached to freezer and took out ice cube tray. He gazed significantly at his boy until Tintin noticed the signal.  
  
“What?”  
  
Archibald chuckled and without single word paced to table where he flexed the tray to free the ice cubes.  
  
“What sort of twisted idea you got?” The ginger was suddenly intrigued. Very intrigued.  
  
Captain turned at him, leaning on table, exposing himself to Tintin’s stares. “Me? And twisted idea?” He said with his most innocent tone. Which was not innocent at all. His raven black chest hairs were stuck on his skin and his member was semi-erected. The ginger felt a sharp tug of lust in his belly. It was long, actually way too long, since they engaged in that pleasurable activity. _Thanks_ to his irritated mood.  
  
“I am merely fulfilling your desires.” Archibald stated with mischievous grin.  
  
“I do not remember … Aaa!”  
  
Tintin is suddenly lying on table, surprise etched on his face, arms spread wide, legs dangling in the air, Captain between them, towering above him. Delightful shivers shoot through his body whenever their bodies touch. Before Tintin could voice any protest, ice cube is pressed against his lips.  
  
His eyes widen.  
  
Archibald smiles. “Yer wanted to cool off, non?”  
  
But this has completely opposite effect. Certain part of Tintin’s body get incredibly hot that instant.  
  
Captain snickers at Tintin’s erection, knowing that his boy is completely into this. “So, I’ll cool yer off.”  
  
He slides the ice cube slowly down Tintin’s throat, grazing his pale skin. The ginger shudders. Archibald hums contentedly and traces the ice further down, through the line between Tintin’s breasts and across his six pack abs, all the way down to navel with one deliberately _torturously slow_ stroke. And back up. And down again. Up. Down. Halfway up and returns down to let the remnants of ice cube melt in his bellybutton.  
  
Tintin moans, goose bumps arising on the skin which was touched by ice, ice which burns, burns deep inside, into his core, fueling a fire, unquenchable desire for Captain, Captain’s touch, Captain’s warmness.  
  
Archibald takes other ice cube and lays it on Tintin’s left areola, evidently enjoying the way how his younger lover gasps for breath, how he moans and whimpers, how he shudders with every, even the slightest, movement of ice on his nipple, how his delicate yet strong arms travel spontaneously to his loins to fondle own leaking cock. Captain chuckles and takes another ice cube, to dignify the second nipple with similar treatment.  
  
Wild growl work its way out of Tintin’s throat as his whole body jerks vigorously. The sensation is breathtaking. So _cold_ yet so _hot_ at the same time. Everything else is forgotten. He wants to spread his legs wider apart but instead he presses them to Archibald’s sides, encasing that man who drives him crazy in sweet trap, rubbing their shafts together.  
  
Captain groans. “Hmmmm.” He eagerly thrusts his hips forward, eliciting loud moan from the ginger. “Seem it has opposite effect.”  
  
“Ah. Liar.” Tintin grasps Archibald’s sides and pulls him even closer. “This was, aaahn, exactly your i-intention, wasn’t it?” He bites his lower lip and rubs himself on Captain’s coarse body in the same rhythm in which Archibald circles ice cubes around his nipples.  
  
“Yer see right through me.” He travels with the first, almost melted, ice cube down, past Tintin’s navel and up to the tip of his proudly standing prick and then imprison both, the ice and Tintin’s shaft, in his fist, allowing the ice to thaw completely.  
  
The ginger yelps, his hands left Captain’s sides in search for something to hold onto behind his head. He clutches table edge and lifts his hips, urging Archibald to move his hand, to jerk him, to do something, _anything_.  
  
Captain just smiles, his hand firmly in place, _motionless_.  
  
“A…Aaah…Archie … stop teasing …”  
  
“You will have to ask me nicely.”  
  
Tintin bites his lips and whines unwillingly. He won’t beg. No, he won’t.  
  
At least for a little longer.  
  
Being at Captain’s mercy is something he loves, more than all adventures on the world. He can’t get enough, nor now, nor ever, of that man, his best friend, his trustworthy companion, his amazing lover.  
  
Archibald drags the second ice cube down and Tintin expects he will do the same thing as with the first.  
  
He couldn’t be more wrong.  
  
The ice, leaving wet, quickly drying trail behind, tickles his tummy, wriggles through his pubis (ginger, the same fiery colour as his hair), presses slightly on his bollocks and slides down between his buttocks. The ginger suddenly feels strange mixture of nervousness and anticipation, want and fear, surprise and disbelief. “You don’t meaAAAAAA!”  
  
Captain pushes the ice inside Tintin, pressing it as far as possible.  
  
“ _OOOoooh…Aaah…_ ” Tintin props himself up in such way, that Archibald would swear human body simply can’t endure. His rump and the top of his head still touching table, but the rest of his upper body arching high in the air, legs wrapped tightly around Captain. “Good…GodGreatSnakesHeaven! Aaaaaa…Aaahmmm…” Tintin’s trunk descends back down, but he writhes frenetically. “It’s cold, so _cold_ , it’s **melting**! Oh yes! Yesyesyesyesyesss!”  
  
“Yer burning inside, Angel mine.” Archibald whispers huskily, his fingers kneading Tintin’s clenched ass.  
  
“Please, _oh please_! Captain … A-Archie … fuck me! **Fuck me!** ” Tintin is no longer ashamed of saying these words, but this time, he can’t suppress the magnificent blush on his face.  
  
“With pleasure.” Captain slips his fingers out and grabs Tintin’s thighs. He conquers his boy without further preparation.  
  
Tintin will be sore, but he doesn’t care. He wants it, he _needs_ it, he loves, _loves_ , **loves** , _**loves**_ it. He yells, screams, moans, pleas and begs, alternating between Archibald’s native English and his own French, in which he mumbles intentionally, well aware that this drives his lover crazy.  
  
Thrusts grow more frantic, more rough, and his voice mirrors them, rising on intensity. Captain’s clutch tightens, leaving bruises, proofs of love, marks of passion.  
  
Through his mind races the knowledge that they have surely woken Nestor and that the butler would be giving them ambiguous looks tomorrow. But it was too quick, too unimportant, fading away as soon as it appeared.  
  
Archibald groans, that guttural sound resonates through him and into the ginger. The perspiration is dripping from him and Tintin can smell the earthy scent of sex and the never leaving salty odour of sea from Captain.  
  
The ginger can not sense his fingers anymore, they went numb while ago, but he still clutches the table desperately. He is close to climax, but he does not want to come yet, he want to relish this moment, making it last forever. Those seconds before orgasm are so wondrous. The sight of Captain, _that expression of his_ , head tilted back, eyes closed on half-mast looking at him with lost, passionate gaze. Tintin whines, unable to look elsewhere.  
  
The thrust are so violent now that whole table is shifting with them. Soon, Archibald will throw his head back with particularly loud growl, his eyes will shut, his mouth will form perfect ‘O’ and he will fill him, fill him to the brim, with his sperm, sticky and delicious and _hot_. Which would start up Tintin’s own orgasm, as always.  
  
The ginger smiles mischievously, breathless and sweaty.  
  
Not this time.  
  
He observes his older lover and when the twitching of that thick exquisite cock inside him give Captain away, he shouts at the top of his lungs. “Archie, I love you!”  
  
Captain’s eyes shoot open with surprised “Ah”. The hotness of his semen banishes the last of chilly feeling remaining from ice. Tintin closes his eyes, relishing his own climax with satisfied sighs.  
  
Archibald lays his head on his boy’s chest, panting heavily and still inside him, preventing the cum from oozing out. Tintin releases his grip on the table and embraces his lover, giggling without reason.  
  
“I … I don’t feel colder at all.”  
  
Captain snickers. “Wonder why.” He kisses Tintin’s chest tenderly, tickling him with his beard. The ginger laughs happily.  
  
Right now, Tintin welcomes, no he actually appreciates, the heat and stickiness, it glues them together and it feels **amazing**. But he would not turn down shower. Nice, calming and cold shower. Well, _cold_. He read somewhere that in such heatwaves people should try sex in shower.  
  
It surely might be interesting.  
  
Tintin sniggers.  
  
Archibald looks at his boy. “Oooh dear. I awakened a Devil.” He states with theatrically terrified voice. But his smile and that twinkle in his eyes reveal that he doesn’t mind at all.


End file.
